


i'll bleed out for you

by PrincezzShell101



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Double whammy, Dying Derek, Dying Stiles, Hunters are such assholes, Like oh my gosh I dunno even, M/M, Tears, Wolf Derek, Wolfsbane, Yeah there is angst as you can see, because now this story is, for the first chapter that is, little bit of gore, so I suggest tissues, sterek feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-17
Packaged: 2017-12-25 11:24:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/952514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincezzShell101/pseuds/PrincezzShell101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek would die for Stiles. Stiles would die for Derek. Sometimes, the lines of death can be blurred. Sacrifices are made even when they aren't going to change a thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ripped away (from you)

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to Bleeding Out by Imagine Dragons and this happened.
> 
> Sorry/not sorry.
> 
> Read on for a total whammy of Sterek feels.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles should have seen this coming.

Stiles should have seen this coming. I mean, logically, what really  _was_ his chance of sneaking into the hunters' base camp without being discovered? None at all. Yep. That's the chance.

"Move it! Quit bein' so slow and move _it_ , boy!" Stiles flinches when Mr. McGrouchy Pants (a man who the other hunter, the one who'd spotted him trying to bypass the treeline and into their base camp, had called 'Rob'), pushes him forward, knife still pressed into the small of his back; a reminder that if he tries anything silly, he'll be skewered up  _real good_.

"Hey, watch the goods. Fragile _human_  here, buddy." He winces, not really surprised at all when Rob presses the knife into the base of his spine. "Ouch! All right! Just,  _ow_ , stop with the knife business! I'm listening, okay? Not talking, going to shut up and  _listen…_ and walk." He mutters the last bit, hissing when he gets another press of the knife for being such a smartass ( _nice one, Stiles_ ), the metal prick of it hard enough to slice through the material of his shirt and cut into the skin of his back.

"Shuddup, boy! Or this knife'll be goin' in your head," Rob snarls, pushing him forward roughly, the force of the push making him stagger slightly and nearly trip over.

Stiles knows better than to snap back a comment to that (he values his life, thank you very much), so he keeps quiet and lets Rob lead him to the middle of their camp, where three more hunters are sitting by a fire and drinking beers, their rifles lying on the ground beside them. They all look up, scowls on their faces, when Rob barges up to them with his sorry ass in tow.

"This the kid?" One of the hunters stands up, blue eyes cold and steely as they rake over his body. Stiles instantly knows this is the chief, the ring leader of the whole group.

"Yes sir," Rob answers, much like how a soldier replies to their drill sergeant. Stiles finds that amusing, and he must be showing it by smirking or something, because Chief turns to him and glares at him like he's a werewolf that is about to get cruelly bisected.

"You find this _funny_ , boy?" Stiles shakes his head, biting his lip, but is not sure whether if it's still from amusement, or fear. "Well then, I'd wipe that damn smug grin off of your face before I tear it off." Yeah. Definitely amusement.

"Wow. You guys really  _do_ take your hunting seriously. I'm actually starting to see a _Doctor Who_ reference here, man. Like, do you guys take traits from the werewolves you kill? Are you guys actually Sycoraxs in disguise? 'Cause If I'm correct,  _werewolves_ do most of the tearing."

Yeah. His mouth really does get the wrong sort of work out in situations like this.

He's got Chief pressing a gun to his temple before he can blink; the hunter's finger is held against the trigger, and his eyes are like pure ice when they meet his.

"I suggest you keep that mouth of yours shut, if you know what's good for you," Chief growls in his face, and Stiles can distinctly smell the stench of beer that is on his breath.  _Rank_. Totally rank.

"Okey dokey, boss. Yes, sir!" He does a salute, but this only gets him the chief's finger pressing down on the trigger tightly, jaw straining, like the guy just wants to blow his head off already and be done with it. He  _really_ doesn't blame 'im. Having  _him_  as a hostage can be exhausting, he only knows that from many years of knowing himself. Annoying is Stiles Stilinski's middle name, my friend. No one can forget that.

Definitely not Derek.

Derek…

Oh, crap. Derek probably doesn't know he's captured. Fuck. Shit.  _Damn it_.

"Rob, get this kid outta my sight before I do somethin' I'll regret," Chief barks. Stiles hears the hunter affirming ' _yes sir_ 'before he's being pushed forward again, over to a couple of tents that are set up further across the clearing. The knife is still pressed up against his back, and he wonders if Rob has an obsession with the _Taken_ movie series 'cause the way he holds that knife and never lets it go is fuckin'  _creepy as shit_.

When they make it over to the tents, Rob goes over to the one furthest to the right and opens it up, pushing him in with a hard shove that sends him tumbling down to the ground. "Now you stay right there and don't move a muscle. You move and I stick this knife where you really don't want it," he threatens.

Stiles nods his understanding, lips twitching despite the deadly position he's in. "Yep, yep, Robbie. Gotcha loud an' clear." Rob's eyes do a sort of twitching thing as well, and he spins the knife around in his hand like a deadly weapon for show. Stiles coughs. "Not moving. Staying still. Got it," he says weakly. The hunter's glare darkens. "So, yeah. Um. You can, like, go now."

"Oh, I don't think so," Rob says lowly, before sitting down on the ground in front of the tent, preventing any escape plans Stiles _had_  had thought out earlier. "I'm not letting you out of my sight, boy."

Stiles doesn't even bother to hold back the groan. " _Perfect_."

"Don't take it too hard, kid. You still might be gettin' ya head blown off tonight," Rob chuckles. And wow, even Jackson isn't this big of a douche.

Stiles just rolls his eyes. "Even  _better_."

***

Stiles must've fallen asleep sometime, because suddenly there's a gruff, very Derek-ish voice whispering his name and hands are shaking him roughly by the shoulders. Then he blinks, and yeah that's no dream. Derek's actually there, because his red eyes are burning brightly in the darkness of the tent and his fangs are out and everything, and the hunter with the knife is…  

 _Shit_.

The hunter with the knife is lying there dead, throat ripped out with brown eyes dull and lifeless, staring at him as blood dribbles out from his parted lips.

"Derek," he hisses, and the alpha turns to him and scowls, red eyes bleeding out but fangs still staying. "You killed him! Dude, that's like, breaking their code. You broke their code!"

"He was in the way." Derek shrugs like it's a good enough excuse. Stiles frowns. "I had to get to you. He was in the way. Do the maths, Stiles," he snaps.

"But you broke their c—"

Derek's hand is suddenly over his mouth before he can make another sound, the werewolf holding a finger to his lips with narrowed eyes and a wild and panicked expression on his face. Kind of like the one where Stiles had accidentally said Derek's name when he'd been in his room and he'd had to lie to his dad to save the werewolf's fugitive ass.

"And you're sure you saw a werewolf 'round here Sam? 'Cause if you're pullin' my leg like you always do I'll—"

Stiles holds his breath as he hears the footsteps abruptly stop a couple metres away from the tent. Derek is breathing quietly behind him, and he can feel the alpha's breath on the back of his neck; to say it makes him feel awkward in his pants is _definitely_  hitting it right on the head. ( _Heh_. Hitting it on the head Oh, Stilinski. You genius.)

"Duh'rek." Stiles's voice is muffled and incoherent under Derek's palm, but it gets the alpha's attention. Derek looks down, and his eyes flash from hazel to red as he bares his fangs at him, like a warning to shut up. Stiles sighs, pointing outside then making a throat slitting motion before pointing at Derek again and giving him a knowing look.

Derek just shakes his head, rolling his eyes.

"I'm not kiddin' ya Harry, he was right t—"

Stiles freezes.

There is only a moment of silence before the loud shout erupts.

"ROB!"

Stiles hears footsteps pounding against the earth, getting closer, before he sees two human shadow shapes silhouetted from outside the closed off flap of the tent. Well, at least the tent is closed. That's good.

"Sam, open the tent 'n see if the kid's still there. Quickly!"

Stiles gulps.

Okay, maybe not so good.

He turns to glance at Derek to see the alpha with wide eyes, looking fearful as well. It only lasts a minute though, before the fear seems to slip off of his face, and Derek is looking like he's ready to kick the hunters' asses; all red eyes, fangs and hairiness… oh and no eyebrows. Which is still  _weird_.

Stiles prepares himself for the tent's flap to be pulled back, closing his eyes and gripping Derek's arm (he doesn't care if things are weird between them later 'cause of it. He's scared and if he wants to hold onto Derek right now to make himself feel better then he goddamn will), but he's met with…  

Silence. Absolute  _silence_.

Suddenly, Derek's hand removes itself from his face and the alpha nods. Wait, what does that mean? He makes a _what?_ gesture with his hands and Derek whispers, "I think they're gone. I can't hear them."

"Oh," he whispers back. "Well, that's great and all but we still need to get out of here."

"I know," Derek snaps. He looks around the tent, red eyes narrowed.

"Well? What are we going to d—"

Derek suddenly tenses and the wild, panicked look flashes across his face. Stiles is about to ask what's the matter when he hears it.

Oh.  _Yay_. The hunters are back.

"You thought you saw a werewolf, found Rob dead with his  _throat ripped_   _out_ , and then didn't even check on the boy!?"

"I—I'm sorry, Rick, but I just thought you'd want to see if the kid's still there yourself."

Stiles scoffs silently.  _Rick_. The chief's name is Rick. Seriously? And to think he'd had a fan boy crush on Alaric from _The Vampire Diaries_.

"Well you thought  _wrong_! Open that tent! Now!"

Stiles feels his heart jackhammer in his chest. Derek must hear it too because the alpha is now, surprisingly, squeezing his hand, and Stiles catches direct contact with his ruby eyes.

They are livid.

He hears the tent zipper being undone, and suddenly air seems hard to grasp in his lungs.

"I swear, if this kid's gone 'n run off I'mma—"

The tent flap is yanked open and  _Rick_ pokes his head in and…

And Derek pounces.

Like,  _literally_ pounces.

He's in full alpha form, not like Peter but an actual  _wolf._ Sleek, black and beautiful, with strong, lithe muscles and flaring red eyes.

Derek roars, and Stiles watches with wide eyes as he takes Rick down, tearing into the hunter's side, snarling and growling. Rick cries out, trying to push the hulk of a wolf off of him, but Derek is just too powerful. The alpha's jaws latch shut over the hunter's throat before snapping down. Stiles flinches when he hears the sharp crack, the sound evident of bones breaking.

"Shit," he mutters, shocked.

Rick is dead, his head twisted to the side violently from his neck being broken right down to the bone itself. Stiles can see ripped open flesh and white splinters of bone peeking out from underneath the skin. And blood.  _A lot_ of blood.

"RICK!"

"Fuck! The thing's  _massive_!"

Stiles swears. He'd forgotten about the other two hunters. Sam and Harry? Yeah. Sam and Harry. God, at least one isn't called Dean. He does  _not_ need a _Supernatural_ reference there. His fan boy crush with Alaric from _The Vampire Diaries_ already is destroyed and like  _hell_ he wants to lose his fan boy crush on Dean Winchester as well.

Oh.  _Right_. This isn't the time to talk about fan boy crushes.

He sees Sam and Harry (ha! One Direction reference. He just realises that), advance toward Derek with rifles loaded and pointed in front of them. Stiles only hopes they aren't filled with wolfsbane bullets, because if they are then Derek's fu—"

_BAM!_

A shot goes off.

Stiles hears the moment the bullet hits Derek, and when he does he can't help but gasp, hand flying to his mouth in an instant reflex. There's a sickening sound of bullet tearing and entering through flesh, and then a howl as Derek hunches over, making snarly little growling noises deep in his throat as his whole body trembles from what Stiles only presumes is pain.

" _Whew_! Nice one, Harry!" Sam cheers. Stiles feels gutted, literally sick to the stomach, as he watches the two hunters fucking  _high-five_ while Derek is bleeding out onto the gro—

 _Wait_.

Bleeding out.

Why is he bleeding? No. Why isn't he  _healing_?

"Thanks, Sam. Knew I was doin' good when I packed them wolfsbane bullets this mornin'. Glad they came in handy."

Stiles freezes.

No.  _Nonononono_.

He must make a noise because Sam and Harry turn to him, rifles pointed straight at him.

"Hey, it's that kid who tried sneakin' into camp," Harry snaps.

"Shoot 'im," barks Sam. "He's no use to us, and the world should be better off with one less annoying brat in it."

Stiles swallows back his fear. "Hey, guys, c'mon, are we really going to—"

 _BAM!_  

Another shot rings out.

Stiles's eyes are closed, shut tight. He expects pain to come  _any minute now_ , because he'd been in the shooting range of a  _rifle_ and that rifle had gone off and he should be feeling  _something_ , at least a burning flare of pain in his chest and…

And then there's a snarl.

A fuckin'  _familiar_ snarl.

Stiles freezes for what feels like the thousandth time that night, and when he opens his eyes he actually believes his heart has  _stopped_ because…  

Because that's Derek standing in front of him, both his front and hind legs trembling with the strain of holding himself up, and Stiles can hear the panted whuffs of breath he's wheezing out.

Derek… Derek has just  _jumped_ in front of him and taken the bullet for him.

A wolfsbane bullet. 

 _Two_ fucking wolfsbane bullets, now.

 _Shit_.

"What the fuck!?" Sam yells angrily. He'd been the one to make the shot, no doubt.

"Alpha just saved that kid's life," Harry says, face pinched in confusion as he lowers his own rifle. Oh, wow. Harry must have a change of heart. An epiphany.  _Ha_. Yeah, right. "Maybe… maybe it wasn't bad after all…"

Stiles feels anger pulse through him at those words.  _Wasn't_. Past tense. Like Derek isn't even  _alive_ anymore.

He was. Fuck, he  _is_ alive. Derek is…  

Derek is swaying, letting out an unearthly whimper before collapsing, hind legs giving up the last of their strength.

"Well, it's too late now. Beast's taken two wolfsbane bullets. It's not gonna last long," Sam says, eyes full of amusement. "Which just leaves us with the talkative brat." He points the rifle at Stiles again and Stiles's throat feels dry, especially when Derek whines and he turns to see the alpha trying to get up but failing, legs giving out and sending him slumping to the ground.

"Sam, look, it's still trying to help 'im. It cares about the kid." Harry's voice sounds sad, filled with pity. "Come on, Sam, I know you're not that heartless. Leave the boy alone."

Sam glares at his partner, anger flaring in his grey eyes. "You turning into a pussy now, are ya, Harry?" When Harry doesn't say anything, he just laughs, cocking the rifle. "I don't care what you think, Harry, but I'm shootin' this pipsqueak."

"Sam,  _stop_   _this_. You have no idea what you're doi—"

"Let the kid die with his alpha, huh? Bet it'll be such a nice, bloody ending to their teen _Twilight_ romance," Sam chuckles, completely ignoring Harry to sneer at Stiles.

Stiles holds his arms out by his side. "Okay. Fine. Go right ahead, Sammy boy. Shoot me." He turns around in a circle, and when he's facing Sam again, he smirks. "Make it a nice head shot, though. Always wanted one. To go out in the blazes of glory."

" _Stiles… no…_ "

Stiles nearly jumps in shock. 

 _That voice_.

He turns to see Derek staring at him with large, blinking ruby eyes. He's whimpering, given up on trying to stand, but the way the wolf just  _looks_ at him, makes Stiles's heart break.

"Got no choice, Der," he says softly. "This prick's gonna gun me down whether I like it or not. Might as well make it a nice shot." He turns back to Sam, raising his eyebrows expectantly. "Well? You gonna do it or wha—"

Stiles gasps, thinks that it's weird, the fact that he expected it, yet it feels like such a shock. The pain is a slight ache for a few seconds, like someone has punched him hard in the gut, but then it starts to really  _hurt_.

"Ow," he says, hand coming up to mould itself over the gaping bullet wound that's already bleeding out too much blood. He hears Derek whimpering and whining pitifully, and it reminds him of the puppy he'd had when he was eleven before it'd run away. He makes eye contact with the alpha to see Derek looking at him with wide, terrified eyes.

Oh, God,  _no_.

The wolf's ears are matted down on its head in fright, and that is  _not_  a mental picture Stiles can shake away easily, because all he can see is Derek's vulnerable face when he'd killed Boyd and…

" _Ow_."

"SAM! You fuckin'  _motherfucker_! You shot a  _kid_!" Stiles hears Harry yell out, just before something happens that he can't believe.

He stands there, hand against the wound that's taking away all of his life essence, but he's not paying attention to that right now. His mouth is agape as he watches Sam's body fall backward. His eyes are a lifeless grey and still open, a clear shot going straight through his forehead, blood dripping from his lips as well as the bullet hole that's in his skull.

"Fuck," he whispers, actually awed, because this is like the  _ultimate betrayal_.

He turns to Harry to see the hunter with his rifle aimed out in front of him, eyes wide and hands shaking, like he can't believe what he's just done. 

 _Like he can't believe he just shot his best friend_.

"I—I shot…" He blinks, dropping the rifle. "Oh my God. I—I killed him. Sam…"

"Hey, s'all right," he says weakly, and Harry turns to him. He's still got his hand pressed on his wound, but the pain is a lot less now. He feels numb, actually. Probably the wolfsbane in the bullet starting to kick in. "No o-offence, but he was a h-horrible best friend. Like, my bro, S-Scott, he's a good be—"

Stiles doesn't know what happens, to be honest. One minute he's standing and telling Harry about Scott, and the next he's on his knees, eyesight wavering in and out of focus. Black, then white, then back to normal. He hears Derek whine, but it's soft. Softer than it should be. Fuck. He knows what that means.

"H-Hey, kid, you—you all right?" He blinks up, nearly getting whiplash when he sees Harry standing above him. Shit. How did he get there that fast?

"Y-Yeah," he murmurs, coughing. He screws his face up when he tastes blood, and he spits some out on the ground beside him. "C-Could you move me over—over to Derek? P-Please," he asks weakly. "Don't have the st-strength to get there on my o-own right now."

Harry looks over Stiles's shoulder, and his eyes look pained. "Derek? That—that was his name?" His voice sounds exactly like how people's sound when they're giving their condolences at a funeral.

Stiles squints his eyes, lips twitching in a frown. "No, no, Derek  _is_ his name. Der-Derek's over there, dying, 'n I n-need to get o-over to him. Won't let 'im die a-alone. W-Won't…" He sways, knees not able to keep him upright anymore, but before he slumps forward, Harry catches him.

"Hey, easy there, kid. Hey. Kid. Kid? Kid!"

Stiles feels his heartbeat slowing, can hear the soft thumping beats in his own skull. He can feel arms holding him, and can hear a voice (Harry. Ah, good ol' Harry Styles… No. Not Harry Styles. Harry the  _hunter_ ), and suddenly his whole body feels light, like a feather.

From where he's lying in Harry's arms, if he moves his head a bit to the side, he can see what's in the distance in front of him a few metres away.

He can see Derek.

The alpha's not a wolf anymore, but human. His skin's pale and clammy, ghostly white, much like when he'd been shot in the arm by Kate Argent with the wolfsbane bullet. His hair's matted with dirt and some of it is sticking up, while some of it is stuck to his forehead. And his eyes.  _God_ , his eyes are still open. They're staring at him, and Stiles can still see them from all the way where he is. Hazel, but not much anymore. More like light, lifeless jade, and they're…  

Stiles closes his eyes.  ~~Won't~~   _can't_  look at Derek when he's like that.

Dead on the ground with no colour in his skin, no life in his eyes, and black inky poison tracing veiny lines up his chest, fanning out like a tattoo over the spot where his heart is.

It's too much.

But as he feels the air in his lungs explode out in a whoosh, as he feels his heart give its last few little  _tha-thumps_ , he finds himself opening his eyes once more just to catch a glimpse of Derek's.

His vision fades out only seconds later, turning blurry around the edges until everything is just a haze of white and black and grey.


	2. together again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek is alive.

Stiles has never really believed in the thing called life after death. To him, when you died you died and that was that. You were buried under the ground or cremated into ashes, your loved ones forever wishing you were still alive, breathing and living. So, something silly like life after death was just that. Silly. It was silly to think that after you'd died you would be able to live again.  _Again_. Like your first life was only just the beginning. So, so silly were the fools who put their trust in the belief of life after death.

Well, he must be the silliest fool out of all of them now, huh?

When Stiles dies, he expects to be just that. Dead. Long gone. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust, or whatever the hell you wanna call it.

What he doesn't expect is to awake to birds twittering harmoniously—because seriously. Death has  _birds_  now? And since when is death ever  _anything_  but harmonious?

Stiles's eyes flutter open, and what he sees actually has him reconsidering the thing called death.

 _Am I really dead or_   _this a dream?_  he thinks, blinking up at the clear blue sky above him. So, death has no clouds either. Well, that's just depressing. Parents tell their young kids that heaven is filled with fluffy white clouds and singing angels and all that crap. And the reality? Blue sky and annoyingly chirpy birds.  _Unbelievable_.

"Welcome to paradise," he mutters and slowly stands up, hissing a little when his legs are a bit flimsy and nearly buckle underneath him. When he's sure his balance is well adjusted enough to keep him from tumbling to the ground, he lets himself observe what little piece of hell he's been transported to.

Apart from the blue sky above him that carries on for miles, there is an interesting hue of mist further into the distance that is cloaking what is beyond.

He walks forward, into the direction of the mist even given how creepy he thinks it is. There is something way over yonder, he just  _knows it_. Which is why his curiosity gets the better of him, and which is what leads him past the misty barrier.

"Holy mother of—" Stiles gasps, all thoughts unable to process when he sees what is in front of him that has been hidden beyond the wispy white smog.

It is like heaven. Like, actual _heaven_.

Fresh green grass grows everywhere, swaying to an invisible breeze that Stiles can't feel, yet wants to. Flowers of all different shapes, sizes and colours stem up from the grass too, bees buzzing and butterflies flittering around them. There is a huge, big oak tree in the middle of the clearing, and its leaves are like emerald diamonds growing from the overhanging branches. It reminds Stiles of the talking tree in _Pocahontas,_ the story his mum used to read to him before bedtime when he was a young boy.

Also, Stiles can see something beyond the oak tree.

Something big, something white, something that looks like a…

Stiles's eyes widen when he realises what it is.

He's seen it before.

A burnt down, black charcoal ghost of the way it had once been.

The Hale house.

He is looking at the Hale house in the distance, and it looks exactly like it had before the fire had demolished it of its beauty.

The door cracks open suddenly.

Someone is coming out of the house.

There are actually people in there.

The Hale family.

 _Oh, my God. The Hale family must live here_ , Stiles thinks happily, waiting for the person to step out and show themselves.

Who will it be? Laura? Derek's mother? Derek's father? Maybe it'll be Peter's wi—

"Oh. My. God." Stiles feels his knees go weak and his mouth go dry, tears flooding his eyes, making the person's features a tad blurry.

But there is no mistaking who it is.

Black hair, jade eyes.

" _Derek_ _…_ "

Stiles is running before he even realises his feet are moving. The wind that had been invisible before is now blowing through him full force, whipping past him as his legs propel him forward, toward the love of life.

As Stiles gets closer and closer, Stiles can see him.

Derek's sporting not a grain of stubble and instead he has a clean, freshly shaven jaw, and is smiling—no, grinning—standing on the steps of the Hale house, waiting for him. When Stiles is close, he walks down the steps, covering the last few paces, so when Stiles reaches him, they collide.

Stiles instantly wraps his arms around him, burying his head into Derek's neck and breathing in the scent of leather, mint and spicy cologne that the older man has always smelled of.

He can't help but release out a small sob, tightening his grip on the werewolf and letting the relief wash over him.

Derek is  _alive_.

 _They_  are alive.

Maybe the thing called life after death isn't so hard to believe, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no clue. That song always gives me Sterek death fic ideas.
> 
> Kudos and comments are love <3


End file.
